


Whispers

by nothated



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Family Feels, Fluff, Love, Margaery becoming apart of the family!, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-07
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-10-29 02:35:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10844700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nothated/pseuds/nothated
Summary: Margaery trying to get in Arya's good graces!





	Whispers

**Author's Note:**

> Genuinely something I wrote in ten minutes for AxG week ages ago, found it and wanted to do my part to keep the fandom alive! Might write another chapter if anyone wants it! Let me know!

Lady Margaery Tyrell was a Southerner. She was from as far south of Westeros as south went. 

After the Tyrell entourage left, taking Sansa with them for her dear Willas as well Lord Stark down to King’s Landing (not a great loss for her), she had felt strangely alone up North in Winterfell. But Margaery had never been one to sit idle. She was determined to become a beloved member of the Starks, a darling of the Northern people like she had been in the South. Slowly she hatched schemes, little ways to work her way into the heart of the various members of the Stark family, slowly winning them over. 

Robb was no issue. She had won him over quite easily on the first night in their marriage bed. 

Ensuring Bran’s approval was similarly as easy. All Margaery did to ensure his love and loyalty was keep an eye out for Lady Catelyn when he wanted to climb to the tops of the highest of Winterfell’s towers. She watched him climb all the way, applauding him extensively (and in relief) on his safe return to the ground. 

Gaining Rickon’s trust had been a matter of patting and playing with his Direwolf pup, Shaggydog. This had been simultaneously simple and terrifying, definitely more terrifying than simple. 

With Lady Catelyn, it had simply been a matter of complimenting her son in a way all mother’s appreciated. 

The last two of the Stark siblings had not been so easy. 

With Jon Snow, it had been a matter of getting to know him. She was sure there had never and probably would never be another Southern lady who would look past his bastard birth and simply be kind to him. Gods knew Lady Catelyn was no shining example in that regard. Thus, that was what Margaery had done. She had maintained an easy, friendly repour with Jon and been completely without judgement of his bastard heritage. 

Slowly Margaery had talked to him, teased him, joked around with him and he had thawed, talking with her and occasionally even saying something somewhat witty. Margaery thought that the smile that she had coaxed out of him would forever live amongst her greatest achievements. If Robb and Jon had been less close, she would have had some fun with Jon, but she would not spoil their relationship, neither was she sure that they would even allow that. Jon was much too honourable to bed his brother’s wife. 

It seemed that Arya Stark was to be the most challenging of them all to charm. 

Margaery was not sure how to even establish some sort of tenuous relationship with her. She was untrusting of anyone who wasn’t a Northerner and they shared no similar interests. More so, Arya was the smartest among her family member, she had a quick intelligence that Margaery recognised. However Margaery was nothing if not persistent and resourceful and she had always been a little too determined, a trait her Grandmother had always prized in her. 

So Margaery made it her mission to seek her out constantly. She invited her horse riding. She offered to hold her bow while Arya practiced archery. She even tried to make excuses for Arya to avoid the more ladylike activites her mother insisted that she participate in. However ultimately all that this had led to were icy, untrusting looks from Arya. There was no warmth in her, no sign that she was even welcome in Winterfell. 

Still Margaery tried, which brought her to a cold evening when she was walking from her rooms to the Great Hall, dressed and ready to dine. She had decided to call past her good-sisters room to see if Arya would perhaps want to accompany her to dinner. 

“It fits…” Margaery heard Arya’s angry, girlish voice saying from inside her room, “I wore it only a little while ago. You are not lacing it properly.” 

Margaery rounded the corner, standing for a minute at the slight crack of the open door. 

“I’m sorry m’lady, the dress will not lace up,” a flustered maid announced   
rather anxiously, “Perhaps you have something else, or you should go to the steamstresses…” 

“No,” Arya screeched in frustration, “just try harder… it fits, I’m telling you it bloody well fits…” 

Margaery opened the door at that, casting a friendly look towards the terrified looking maid, who was gaping at Arya’s foul language. 

“Why don’t you go back down to the kitchen… Bessa,” Margaery suggested sweetly, remembering the girls name from the back of her mind just in time, “I shall help my good-sister.” 

Arya cast Margaery a suspicious look, opening her mouth, inevitably to refuse but before she could say a thing the maid had bolted from the room. Margaery shut the door fully, turning analyse her good-sister.

Margaery smiled a sweet smile, beginning to walk toward Arya. 

“What seems to be the issue, Lady Arya?” Margaery said as she walked behind Arya, watching the girl as she looked into her mirror, smoothing down the middle of her gown. 

“Nothing’s the matter,” Arya snapped at her, looking back into the mirror, her teeth gnawing indelicately at her bottom lip. 

“Well obviously your dress is not fitting well as it was when I last saw you wearing a dress, which has not been for sometime,” Margaery said easily, flashing an inviting smile, “Shall I try to pull the laces myself?”

Arya looked at her carefully. Before beginning to pull her arms out of the dress brashly. 

“No, its fine, you can leave,” Arya said briskly, “I do not even know why I thought I might wear a dress today, it was a stupid idea in the first place.” 

“No it certainly was not, sweet sister. I think that that the colouring and cut would suit you rather well,” Margaery said pleasantly, before beginning to pull the sleaves of the dress back up Arya’s shoulders gently and fiddling with the laces, “Here hold still.” 

Arya did as she was told, standing there stiffly as Margaery pulled at her laces. They threaded quite easily around Arya’s small figure but did not fit well around her waist. 

“I’m sorry my lady but the maid was right, your dress does not fit,” Margaery stated, before walking over to Arya’s chest, beginning to pull out other dresses, “Perhaps ones of these will work better. Why don’t you try on this beautiful green one? It will pair beautifully with your dark mane?” 

Margaery remained where she was, holding a dress in each hand, deciding which dress would be more appropriate and warm when she glanced over at her good-sister, who remained standing exactly where she had been a minute ago.   
She looked exactly the same, except she looked somehow more devastated and distraught than she had when the maid had told her that her dress wouldn’t fit.

Most people would have felt compassion, but Margaery was more than just compassionate, she was cunning and this struck her as the perfect time to gain her good-sisters trust. 

So Margaery placed the dresses down on Arya’s bed and went over to stand next to the girl, placing a comforting hand on her back. 

“What’s the matter?” Margaery cooed, “if it’s the dress, don’t spare it a thought. I can have it let out in a moment. Lets just find you something for tonight and tomorrow…” 

“Its not about the dress,” Arya yelped out, breaking out of Margaery’s gentle hold, “Surely you don’t think me so stupid as to be upset of a stupid dress…” 

Margaery remained where she was standing, calculating carefully. 

“Then what is the matter, dear sister?” Margaery said, clasping her hands together as she looked to Arya with wide eyes. 

Arya seemed to slump at her question. 

“Nothing,” she rasped out sounding rather tired all of the sudden, “forget anything happened and go to dinner. I shall be there shortly…” 

Margaery hummed at Arya, beginning to walk to the door. However as soon as she reached it, she stopped herself. 

She wouldn’t be shooed away by a girl who obviously thought her stupid and useless. She could prove her worth. That was certainly one way to gain Arya’s respect. 

Margaery turned around, looking her good-sister directly in the eyes. 

“No, now tell me what is wrong so we can fix it,” she said firmly. 

Lady Arya looked up, raising one eyebrow at her stance. 

“Excuse me,” she said haughtily. 

“Arya, I have decided that I may call you Arya, we are family now, whether or not you want to admit it and whatever crude things you want to say about us Southron Tyrells, we protect our family,” Margaery declared, “So please forget about your pride and allow me to protect you.” 

The girl stared at her. Her face revealed nothing of what was going on in her mind. Margaery thought that perhaps she was taken aback, but could hardly be sure. 

Arya didn’t speak for a couple of seconds, simply staring at Margaery. 

“Well?” Margaery said sharply. 

Arya opened her mouth before closing it and slumping backward onto her bed.   
She looked up at Margaery, a whisper of something going through her eyes. 

Trust maybe, Margaery pondered in surprise. 

“My moon blood didn’t come this month,” Arya finally said dully. 

Margaery froze in surprise. Of all things that she had expected, she would admit that had not even entered her mind. However now that she thought about it, it made some semblance of sense. Margaery berated herself for not connecting those dots sooner. She had thought Arya more intelligent than this if she were hoenst with herself. Arya must be a virgin who thought if she missed a moonblood she could be with child. One of her younger cousins had once rushed to their grandmother with similar concerns. She rushed to reassure Arya. 

“It that all? Do not worry, it happens to women often. We miss our moon blood for the month sometimes for some reason or another,” Margaery said gently, moving to sit next to her good-sister. 

“I missed it last month too,” the girl said quietly. 

Margaery’s insides froze. 

“It is possible that you’re with child?” she said softly, grasping Arya’s hand, surprised when the girl let her. 

Margaery knew the answer before the girl nodded miserably. 

Margaery sucked a deep breath in, expelling the air immediately and gathering her wits. 

She knew what she would do in this sort of situation, what her grandmother would do. Considering Arya was unmarried and young, only 16, Margaery knew what the only course of action was but first she had to know something just to sate her curiosity. That and she was her grandmothers daughter, in her view all things could be maneuverered to be useful. 

“Is it the blacksmiths child? Or someone else’s, perhaps Prince Aegon who comes to visit you so often,” she asked softly, rubbing one of Arya’s hands in between her own in a comforting manner. 

“Aegon,” Arya said with disgust, “That white haired fop who thinks that poetry and the promise of being a Princess will lure me into his bed. Not bloody likely.” 

“So the Blacksmith then?” Margaery said candidly.

It was Arya’s turn to freeze then as she turned to slowly look at Margaery. 

She didn’t have to say anything for Margaery to know that she had guessed correctly. 

There had been whispers about Arya and the Blacksmith from here King’s Landing ever since Margaery had arrived to be wed to Robb. 

The handsome Blacksmith, a bastard, who Margaery knew had a striking resemblance to her brother’s beloved, Renly Baratheon, which only meant one thing. He had been sent up here for some reason or another, and maintained a close relationship with most of the Starks, especially Jon Snow and Arya... 

Suddenly her gaze turned urgently as Arya grasped both of Margaery’s hands almost painfully. Arya looked her in the eyes, hard grey eyes boring down into soft brown ones. 

“You cannot tell a soul,” Arya began, fear in her voice, “They will kill Gendry and I couldn’t bare that. If he died I don’t think I would live to see another day… Please you cannot tell anyone Margaery. ” 

For a second Margaery was taken aback. Arya never called her by her name. The girl was desperate to save her lover. 

Margaery had been taught to be ruthless. To appear as the sweet flower but really be the snake underneath. She had been taught to use such things ruthlessly against people. However something deep in Arya’s gaze, her desperation tugged at Margaery’s compassion and she knew in that moment she would do whatever she could to help her good-sister. Genuinely and not out of any sort of false kindness. 

“I won’t. Do not worry, we will figure this out, you and me,” Margaery said, returning the pressure of Arya’s hand. 

Relief flooded Arya’s features. 

“Thank-you,” she whispered.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!! It is SO appreciated!!


End file.
